Searching For A Smile
by Poesia-Riptide
Summary: When it seems like you've got everything going against you, the best comfort you can find comes when you least expect it. And quite often, from the person you least expect it from. My entry for Metallic Mist's Salt Challenge.


**::/Searching For A Smile/::**

**.**

A/N: First of all... YES I KNOW I QUIT. But I've heard too many people starting to complain about CID FF becoming rather monotonous, with almost nothing but romance (usually Abhirika or Rajvi) and Abhidaya making their appearance repeatedly. (Plus, whenever I visit CID FF, all I see is the word 'love' or 'pyaar' or something along those lines. Weird considering the fact that this is supposed to be the Crime Investigation Department fanfic archive.) So I decided to do something about it. And who better to make this brief comeback with than an almost universally hated character?

This is **ALTERNATE UNIVERSE** and things are NOT LIKE how they were shown in CID. (Not exactly.) Muskaan haters, you may not enjoy this, but it's something I've been meaning to do for a while now, so I'd just like to get it off my chest. :)

(Vivek's small role in this story is STRICTLY little-brotherly... obviously, since if you know me even a little you'll know that Vivesha are my second OTP after the evergreen Frenisha.)

Title inspiration goes to the brilliant author John Green and his book _Looking For Alaska. _The cover image is a Percy Jackson fan art by the amazing Viktoria Ridzel (Viria).

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/\\/\\/\\

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The suitcase won't zip.

For the life of her, she can't understand why. It's not even like she has that many clothes to begin with. Having been a tomboy nearly all her life, she doesn't exactly own a huge wardrobe. Her arched brows knit in a frown as she tugs violently at the zipper. It won't budge.

Temporarily abandoning the attempt, she sighs and lets herself fall backward, hitting the bed with a soft thump. Above her, the ceiling fan squeaks faintly, at three-second intervals. She has no idea why she notices this... but then again, she doesn't seem to know anything anymore. Not even herself. _Especially_ not herself.

Her finger absently twirls a silky strand of hair. It randomly crosses her mind that she's never quite managed to grasp the concept of dolling herself up or dressing to impress. It just isn't her.

But then, what _is_ her, really?

She feels the familiar wrench of guilt deep in her gut again. The new girl's face swims before her eyes again, hazy, out of focus. A sudden urge to laugh seizes her. Out of focus, like everything else. Suddenly, she wishes the ceiling fan would fall and crush her lungs. Anything to escape from this guilt, this mortification she'll probably have to live with for the rest of her life.

A new face flashes before her, unexpected, out of the blue. This time it's a man's face. _His_ face. The mortification disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by something that feels like a burning knife being slowly, gently eased up her chest, through her ribs and into her heart. She wonders, in a daze, what brought this on- but even as she wonders, she knows. It's the smile. The courage and strength shining through the innocence and vulnerability. None of which, she knows, are qualities she herself can claim to possess.

She won't be missed, she thinks. Sure, maybe two or three of them might mention her name once in a while, but even that will slowly, surely, decline until finally, even in name, she ceases to exist in their lives.

_If only it were that easy._

Turning over onto her side, she finds herself staring at the suitcase. Distractedly, she runs a finger over her initials, stitched into the side. At least there's something she has left to call her own, even if it's just two letters of the alphabet sewn in fading thread on the side of a worn old suitcase by careful, loving hands that she will never know the touch of again.

She remembers having asked why the owner of those hands had given her the name she had. Being the roughhousing tomboy she was, she'd always thought her name was too soft, too sunshine-and-rainbows for her personality. The reply she'd gotten was unexpected.

'_Because that's what you are to me.'_

At the tender age she had been then, she couldn't think of anything to say. Today, two decades later, she still can't.

It's been a while since she's seen her name on her face. And an even longer while since she brought it onto anyone else's face. _Have I ever actually done that at all? _she thinks, another burning feeling pricking at the corner of her heart. This time it's more like a small, sharp pin than a knife, but makes its presence felt nonetheless.

Strange, really, how she can go from a blank, cold oblivion without knowing anything to blazing, blinding realisation and knowing everything in a mere matter of minutes. But then, that's always been her. Hot and cold.

And that's when she knows she needs to do this. Not for herself, for them. Everyone else.

Lifting herself up off the bed with some effort, she unzips the suitcase and carefully zips it closed again. This time it's compliant, sliding shut with ease. She pins her hair up quickly, getting to her feet and grabbing the sling bag off the table as she pulls the suitcase along.

She's heard that when somebody leaves, the one who stays suffers more.

Not when it's her leaving.

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The train is too loud.

She can hear the wheels, the cogs, the engine, the evening wind streaming through the open window and hitting her face like a hundred angry hands. The sound reverberates, filling her ears as her whole body is gently rocked back and forth by the movement of the train. She sits huddled in a thin red-and-black pashmina scarf that's luckily big enough to serve as a makeshift shawl. Not that she cares, really. All the blankets in the world couldn't make her warm.

Just like not even the loudness of the train can drown out the voices in her head.

Reaching up to brush her dishevelled hair out of her face, she thinks of him again, as she's done for the better part of the past few hours even though she's tried her best not to. Oddly enough, though he's miles away from her by now and she'll probably never see him again, she still isn't sure exactly how she feels about him.

Sure, her heart did a mini- high jump (is there even such a thing?) whenever he looked at her. She couldn't help smiling whenever he smiled. And the way he'd come to her defence whenever she was in trouble...

It suddenly hits her, so very powerfully, that she's already started thinking about him in the past tense.

Maybe this is what they mean by 'like a ton of bricks'. Only it's worse, much worse- because his face flashes before her again and this time, she's not feeling anything at all.

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The air is bitingly cold.

A sudden breeze sends a chill through her, right down to her bones. She shivers, her teeth chattering as she gets down from the train, lifting her suitcase and bag down after her. She wishes she'd remembered to put on a sweater or jacket before getting down, but they're all in her luggage and she can't afford to open it here in the middle of the station.

Wrapping the red scarf more tightly around herself, she walks down the platform. The wheels of her suitcase make a soft rasping sound as they run over the ground, steadily following her. She finds it unnaturally annoying- it's as if they're announcing her arrival, making her presence felt when all she wants is to blend in with the surroundings.

Somehow, she succeeds in making it out of the station, fairly unnoticed, and getting a taxi. The driver is a lanky boy who looks younger than her, has a mop of unruly hair that sticks out at all angles from under the navy blue and green knitted cap he has on, and insists upon singing along to the radio in a voice that reminds her of the band of chipmunks she once saw in an animated movie. Thankfully, he's considerate enough to keep it relatively quiet, though the radio itself is blaring at a rather above-comfort-level volume.

She's grateful for it, though. It prevents her from thinking, numbing her mind temporarily. At least, until the driver stops his chipmunk singing and starts talking. He doesn't seem the least bit bothered that she replies in monosyllables or not at all, and pretty soon she's learned half his life history. He's twenty-four, lives in an area she's never heard of despite having been to this city several times, and has four younger siblings, two of whom are still in school. His youngest brother, he adds brightly as he turns a corner, wants to be a cop when he grows up.

Not knowing what to say to that, she just gives him a half-hearted smile in the rear view mirror, which he returns with twice the generosity.

She decides to tip him extra just for the smile.

Later, sitting in a small room illuminated by a single large window, she mutely watches the sunlight pour in through it, creating red-brown highlights in the hair of her nephew as he sits on the floor attempting to assemble a structure out of what seem to be oversized Lego bricks of brightly coloured plastic. The house seems to be emphasising its emptiness, with the silence seeming to ring in her ears. She actually finds herself missing the cacophony of the radio that her ears were treated to just a few hours earlier.

Her older brother and his wife have been kind enough to open their home to her. They've assured her that she's welcome to stay with them for as long as she likes, but she knows she won't. They have their own life to run, their child to raise, and she doesn't want to become just another of their responsibilities. Not when her independence is one of the last remnants of her pride. The other shattered pieces were cast to the winds on the day she walked out of the bureau for the last time.

She reminds herself wryly to stop thinking of it as 'the' bureau. It isn't hers anymore, any more than _he_ was ever hers.

But then, did she ever really love him at all either?

The touch of a small hand on hers brings her back to the present with a jolt, and she looks up into the inquisitive face of her nephew. He has her brother's eyes. Though she already knows it perfectly well, she still notices this fact all over again. "Where's Mamma?" he wants to know.

"Gone to the shop," she tells him, and he makes no further conversation, but sits back down abruptly and continues his architectural pursuits, determinedly attempting to make an imbalanced structure stand straight. She doesn't have the heart to tell him it won't.

That's when she thinks that maybe there is some hope for her after all. Suddenly, the room doesn't seem so dreary anymore. A crayon drawing on the wall catches her eye.

A sun with a smiley face.

.

She doesn't know what she was expecting when she first walked in here, but certainly not this.

There's something new in the way he says hi, a sort of uncertainty in his clear hazel eyes. She thinks it safe to assume that he doesn't quite know what to think of her anymore. Understandable, though, considering that she successfully contradicted everything they thought they knew about her before turning and vanishing from their lives. Or so she thought.

He's here on an investigation, she learns. She decides not to ask anything further unless he himself brings anything forth. It won't do to look like she still cares about what happens there.

Who is she kidding, though?

Not him, apparently. He tells her his train back home is at four in the evening, and asks if she can show him a nice place to have lunch. Before she can reply, he hesitantly adds that he'd like for her to come along. So in spite of her better judgement, she does. It must be something about the pleading hazel eyes, like a kitten's. Not that she likes kittens. Of course not. Much too dainty and adorable for her taste. Whoever sneaks milk to the ones that live in the parking lot of her brother's apartment, it definitely has nothing to do with her. No way.

Lunch is relatively quiet, the gaping silence saved from turning into awkwardness only by small talk about how she finds the city, where she's staying, when exactly she joined this branch and the like. By the end of the meal, she's sure she's never been this quiet in her life.

But he makes up for it. Without being asked, he fills her in on whatever's been happening since she left. He tells her the new girl seems to be adjusting quite well, though she seems to have an unnaturally high degree of belief in superstition that annoys the ACP to no end. As altered as her attitude towards the girl in question is, she still has to fight her hardest to keep from smirking at that particular anecdote, especially after imagining what the elderly gentleman's reaction would have been.

He asks her to suggest some way for him to kill the two hours he has left before leaving for the railway station, and so she does, albeit a bit warily. There's a nice place by the sea, and the weather is particularly pleasant at this time of the year. She doesn't tell him that it's the only place she really goes to outside of work, and he doesn't ask either- just comes with her.

The wind and the waves crashing against the rocks are loud. Loud enough for their silence to not be awkward, and she's grateful for it. Until he speaks.

"Do you miss him?"

For the first time in months, a question catches her completely off guard. She blinks a few times, intensely aware all of a sudden of the salty sea air stinging her face, and searches her heart for an answer. He seems to understand that she finds none, and a rueful smile lifts one corner of his mouth. "It's OK. I get it." He falls silent, pushing his hopelessly messed-up bangs back from his forehead. "I always figured you were confused on that front."

She squints at him curiously. "Was I that obvious?"

He chuckles. "Nah. I just pay more attention to my co-workers than they notice." His tone changes, some seriousness seeping into it. "But to be honest, I think you could have had a chance. If not for the whole..." he trails off, knowing she'll understand, and she does. She raises an eyebrow at him, a trace of her old self returning if just for a minute. "What about you? Anything I should know about?" she jokes half-heartedly, and he laughs. "Nope. My social life is currently a big non-event. I just hang with Freddy sir whenever I feel particularly in need of company."

That makes her happy and sad at the same time, for some reason, and she turns to the horizon, watching the sky meet the sea. Even the elements have friends. Too bad she can't say the same for herself.

"We miss you, you know." His voice brings her back to reality. "ACP sir especially. He keeps telling Divyana she should be more like you."

There it is. The very topic she's been valiantly trying to avoid all this while. Thankfully, he quickly catches on, and hastily covers up. "I mean, he's got a very high opinion of you."

She doesn't respond, just shakes her head slightly. They sit in silence until it's time for him to leave.

At the airport, he tries his best, poor boy, to make things as normal as possible for both of them. Tries to pretend it's just a casual parting after a chance meeting. But they both know he isn't fooling anyone. This is it, even if he doesn't want to admit it.

Finally, he gives up the fruitless attempt and drops his duffel bag down at his feet. Before she knows it, he reaches out and gives her a swift, tight hug, and she's suddenly thrown headfirst years back in time, when her brother used to do the same thing whenever her spirits appeared down. For a minute, just a fleeting minute, she's ten years old again, and nothing can hurt her. Not even herself.

It may be a trick of the light, but she sees an unnatural glimmer in his hazel eyes when he steps back, picking up his bag. "You take care of yourself, OK? And just..." Either he can't find the words, or they stick in his throat. "Just let it go, you know what I'm saying? It's all-"

For the first time in months, she finally finds her namesake, the elusive smile that tugs at her lips, and for the last time, she cuts him off in mid-sentence. "It's OK, Vivek," she says, the sudden softness of her voice alien to her own ears. "I get it."

**~THE END~**

**.**

A/N: I would just like to share something with the CID fandom in general.

In the Harry Potter series, people are mocked, abused, humiliated, underestimated and seen as outsiders just because their parents aren't magical. About fifty people die fighting for a better world and more than half of them are school students. Harry Potter, the seventeen-year-old hero of the story, is only able to win the war because he had his friends' help at every stage. There are literally hundreds of characters in the series and out of the hundreds, one and only ONE character is hated by everyone in the fandom. Even then, no one actually bashes her, they all just make fun of her.

In the Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus series, Nico di Angelo, a young boy no older than fourteen, is treated like an outcast just because his father is the god of the Underworld. He literally went to hell and back on his own. The only person in the world who wholeheartedly cares about him is his half-sister. On the other hand, Reyna Ramirez, a teenage girl, spends her entire life fighting to make a safe home for hundreds of demigods. The responsibility of protecting the Roman civilisation is entirely on her shoulders. And she does it all completely alone. On top of that, though she is respected by everyone, no one really cares about her at all. Again, there is one and only one universally hated character but people just ignore her because there's so much else to talk about.

In the Hunger Games series, twenty-four children are forced by the government every year to fight each other to the death, trapped in a deadly jungle with some new danger at every step, until only one of them remains alive at the end. One single seventeen-year-old girl, Katniss Everdeen, with the support of her friends and family, overthrows the government and gets freedom for the people. Along the way, she loses nearly all the people she loved, but succeeds in achieving what she fought for. Like in the previously mentioned series, only one character is universally hated and again, for the most part people just ignore him because there are so many more important things to talk about.

And the common thing in all these fandoms?

People joke about all, and I mean literally ALL THE CHARACTERS, even their favourites. NO ONE gets offended because they know the difference between light-hearted humour and malicious, hateful insulting/bashing. Plus, if you ask people who their favourite character is, only about 20% of the whole fandom will tell you that the main character is their favourite. And some others will OPENLY say that they don't like the main character. And guess what? NO. ONE. FREAKING. CARES.

I'm sure people must have wondered why I always keep telling everyone to get involved in more different fandoms. Well, the answer is right in front of you. And these are only THREE of the many fandoms I'm in. After all this, does anyone honestly still wonder why I behave the way I do in the CID fandom, where people seem to care only about two characters, and it's perfectly OK to hate any other character apart from these two characters?

For example, people say they hate Rocky, understandable. (I think I should probably point out here that in the Harry Potter fandom, many of the villains have more fans than the heroes, simply because fans there actually think about stupid things like character development, background stories, interestingly created personalities etc. etc. which the CID fandom seems to find absolutely useless).

They say they hate Muskaan, also understandable to an extent. (I should also probably point out here that in other fandoms, the soul of a character is explored and analysed much more than the outward behaviour.)

But when they say they hate Tarika just because their reason-for-living (Abhijeet, obviously, because how can anyone's favourite character be anybody else) flirts with her, and they openly proclaim their hate for ACP Freaking Pradyuman, the most awesome senior citizen in the whole freaking TV world of India, just because he shut himself off emotionally after having to kill his own son for the sake of his duty and therefore he decides that anybody accused of a crime is "guilty until proven innocent", then I swear, for the life of me I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS FANDOM.

You guys think me and my friends are bashing the Abhijeet fans and Abhirika fans and "DUO" fans? Please look at the reviews of some of my earlier stories. I got outright insulted for not showing Abhijeet in all his flawless, glorious perfection, even though he actually appeared only in barely 3-4 lines in the story and wasn't even actually a part of the main plot. And PLENTY more happened outside the reviews, too.

I got insults from MULTIPLE directions, from people who had earlier pretended to love my work, just because I made up some original characters called the CID Team Z. People DICTATED what I can write and cannot write. They even tried to dictate what I can ship and cannot ship. And when I refused to wag my tail to their will, they accused me of "breaking their trust" and "causing them pain" and only the good God knows what else. Cause I have no human emotions or feelings, that's why. They are "JUST TOO GOOD" (their exact words) and only they can feel pain and hurt and all those great things.

As if this isn't enough, I got FULL-ON HATE for daring to ship Tarika with someone other than Abhijeet, even though it was fully one-sided. (The story in which I made Rockstar a couple was just an experiment. A trial. Just to see if I could do it. It didn't turn out satisfactory, and therefore I stuck with one-sided. Till today, Rockstar is one-sided and most of the time Tarika doesn't even know Rocky's alive.)

And the best part? I got threatened, yes, THREATENED, because I agreed with a confessor who pointed out that Mr. Srivastav uses a lot of makeup in CID. Humein APNI HI PAGE par DHAMKI DIYA GAYA THA. And the person's exact words were, don't insult Abhijeet and "DUO", yahi hamare liye acha hoga, aur hum bach gaye sirf isliye kyunki hum uske saamne nahi the, varna jo bhi Abhijeet ki "insult" karta hai usko wo nahi chodta.

Have any of you ever been through this?

I have.

And I'm still going through it, on my own freaking page, among all my supporters.

If you still think me and my friends are bashing, or that we're the Hitlers of the CID fandom... well, let me just tell you. Adolf Hitler was someone who used force and terrorism to make people do what he wanted, to destroy entire populations. Not someone who kept repeating himself in increasingly loud tones to TRY and make people understand what he's talking about, because they just don't want to understand. But you know what? I'd actually love to have Hitler's power. At least people listened when he talked.

Thank you for your consideration. _/\_

~PR


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